


blue aster

by not_my_century



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5152790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_my_century/pseuds/not_my_century
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam's feelings decide to sort themselves out at inconvenient times. Cabeswater tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blue aster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [canniballistics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/canniballistics/gifts).



Adam is trying his best not to fall asleep in Calculus, but integrals aren’t exactly the most riveting subject in the world and it’s almost the end of the school day and his brain is just refusing to cooperate. He runs through a list of upcoming homework: problem set, chem lab, history reading, English paper, Latin midterm next week….

He glances up at the board. Time to pay attention again. Mr. Kepler is explaining a problem Adam has already worked through from the book, but he writes a few notes anyway. In front of him, Ronan stretches and yawns, his arms reaching back into Adam’s space and blocking his view. Adam can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose just to annoy him or if it’s a general show so everyone knows how little he cares about this class, but he flicks Ronan’s wrist with his pencil anyway. 

When Ronan turns around, smirking, Adam whispers “Hey Lynch, you trying to take notes for me? I think I got it covered.”

“Me? Take _notes_?” Ronan scoffs and leans back over his desk, exaggerating the distance between them.

Ronan’s slouching over his desk now, one hand behind his head in a pose of calculated laziness. Adam’s eyes run over the slant of his shoulders, watching the way the muscles tense in his arm, the shape of his hand. His usual black muscle tank stands out against the light plastic chair, reflected in the metal bars. Adam finds himself trying to figure out how the muscles in his back align, and _that_ makes him think about how they affect the curves of the tattoo, and then he’s just trying to figure out the tattoo. The top part of it disappears into the back of his tank top, and Adam wastes who knows how much time trying to figure out whether it’s a wing or a vine with thorns or something entirely abstract. He wonders if it’s symmetrical. As he’s thinking about this, Ronan shifts a little and the left side of the tank top gets caught on something, pulling back a little to show the left side of the tattoo a few inches below his shoulder, and _oh_ , he was right, it looks fascinatingly three-dimensional with the way Ronan’s muscles are tensed right now. Ronan moves the shoulder back just slightly, and the thorn-wing-spike-whatever shifts too. Adam wants to see the whole thing, find out how the shift affects the rest of it, what would happen if he leaned forward or twisted to one side. Does it look like the whole thing is moving and changing? He wants to understand it, to trace the whole length of it and see if it changes before his eyes. He imagines touching it, Ronan’s skin warm under his hands—

Ronan chooses this moment to turn around—which makes his muscles do fascinating things, Adam thinks hazily—and whisper “Earth to Parrish!” Much too late, he realizes that he has lost several minutes of valuable class time imagining what his best friend would look like with his shirt off. He blinks, realizes he is still staring at Ronan’s shoulder, which is now very close ( _close enough to run my hand over_ , says the part of his brain that is still being _really weird_ about things), and coughs a little too loudly, feeling like he can’t get enough air. He almost wants to sit on his hands just to make sure they don’t do anything he doesn’t approve of, but settles for putting one behind his neck and the other firmly behind his back.

“Hey Parrish, you’re drooling,” Ronan says, making a small effort to be quiet but not bothering very much anymore.

“Am not,” Adam responds automatically. He isn’t… is he?

“You were _this_ close to falling asleep on me. Did you miss your afternoon nap?” He’s trying to sound gruff and disinterested to make up for the clear concern he’s showing, but it’s not working very well. It’s… cute?

“I think sleep deprivation is doing weird things to my head,” he says out loud, because “cute” is not exactly a word that a normal, non-exhaustion-addled human would use to refer to Ronan Lynch. As the words come out of his mouth he hears a bit of his accent slipping in and winces. He’s losing control.

“Mr. Parrish, I’m sure Mr. Lynch is fascinating, but I do need you to pay attention to what I’m telling you about the midterm,” says Mr. Kepler, and with a jolt of embarrassment Adam realizes he must have spoken too loudly. He mumbles an apology and looks down at his work, gritting his teeth and ignoring everyone’s stares and, he’s sure, Gansey’s concerned look from the next row. _Gansey_ , oh no, Gansey who sits next to him and has probably been watching whatever weird expression has been on his face this whole time…

He brushes away a flower that’s crept onto his notebook and covered up a variable, annoyed with yet another inconvenience. As he moves it, another one grows in its place, and he realizes that he really _has_ lost control: Cabeswater is responding to his emotions. Tiny blue flowers spill from his hands, and he clenches his fists and tells Cabeswater that he would like to live his life now, please, and normal people don’t grow flowers out of their hands in the middle of calc class. He feels Cabeswater’s confusion and knows it’s still listening. Class is almost over, he tells himself, and shoves his hands under his desk. He doesn’t even want to look to see if the flowers are still there.

After a few interminable minutes, during which Adam tries very hard not to think about the earth swallowing him up because there is a very good chance that it might actually do so, the bell rings. He stands up quickly—too quickly, as his vision greys out for a second and he has to grip the desk to keep from falling over. Because his life really needs to get more complicated, Ronan has, of course, seen this happen and actually comes around and gently puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him. His hands are surprisingly warm, and Adam feels a jolt of something he can’t name at the touch. Ronan starts to say something, too, but quickly realizes that he’s ended up on Adam’s left and just squeezes his shoulder briefly, then moves back to get his stuff.

“Later, Parrish,” he says, throwing his bag over his shoulder. Adam nods, still trying to figure out how to put away his books without letting anyone see his hands.

He doesn’t unclench his fists until he gets into the Hondayota. The flowers are still there, and so is that feeling that’s been nagging at him this whole time. As he drives home they grow more and more until they’re wrapped all the way around the steering wheel.


End file.
